


Metatarsus

by grizzly_bear_bane



Series: Cigar Box [9]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Sexual Assault, Catharsis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Homelessness, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, References to Underage Drug Addiction, Retribution, Soulmates, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:30:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a run-in with a bad john.</p><p>Eames takes care of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metatarsus

++

+

 

_And I think it's gonna be a long, long time_   
_Till touch down brings me 'round again to find_   
_I'm not the man they think I am at home_   
_Oh, no, no, no. I'm a rocket man._

_Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone..._

                                             — Elton John, _Rocket Man_

 

Arthur isn’t overly happy about hooking and sleeping in the same place, but the city’s been getting record rainfalls and storms as autumn approaches, so he has no choice but to stay put where he is.

According to the doctor at the clinic, the new medication Arthur's on makes him a walking target for pneumonia. He and Eames had moved out of Yusuf's place once the temptation for Arthur to bum coke from Nash or any of his and Yusuf's buyers continued to hinder his progress. Living in the park and under the overpass was doable, with Eames' protection, but there's no cover from the rainstorms, and since Eames won't risk Arthur's safety either in the loading docks, in the alleys, or underground in the subway tunnels, they're now back at Yusuf's until the parade of storms passes. 

Arthur gets Nash to scribble an ad for him in the usual cruiser hangouts and even a truck stop, so they'll know where to find him, but Nash’s personal customers prove to be enough revenue on their own. Most run up to Nash’s place for their weekly supply and meet Arthur on the way back to their cars, or Nash has Arthur run the drugs down to them and does his work then.

They always park in the same spot, backed in with their reverse lights on, but right now, the space is empty. Arthur's already had one man in his mouth today. He smokes the cigarette he stole from Eames, leaning on the second-floor's railing of the roofed-in, outdoor stairwell of the apartment complex, waiting for another john.

He’s taking risks. Namely, being around Nash, but he's been doing good so far, staying clean, and he intends to keep it that way, for Eames. Then there's Yusuf and Eames himself, who are both out earning their own bread, but with the weather like it is, either one of them could return at any time and catch him hooking, and while he’s not standing directly in the rain, the air is still thick with moisture. At the clinic, he had been too afraid to ask the doctor what pneumonia was, but he can't spell it so whatever it is has to be bad enough to make him take whatever precautions he can. He runs back upstairs to grab his sweater when the wind picks up, for whatever good it might do.

When he gets back, the rain’s coming down hard but there’s a car waiting, its windshield wipers turned on high. Arthur wonders if whoever’s inside can even see him in the downpour, so he takes the steps slowly to the ground floor. The car’s reverse lights come on. Arthur steels himself, but relaxes when he sees the man get out of the car and hurry out of the rain. He’s dressed in khakis and a pastel yellow cardigan like one of the men Arthur’s seen handing out pamphlets about God punishing ‘abortionists’ outside the clinic, so Arthur has no idea what to expect.

“Hi,” the man says, his voice soft and airy. “Are you Alex?”

Arthur leans on the railings, puffing on the last of the cigarette. He shrugs and smiles a little. “Maybe.”

The man stares at him for a moment as if expecting to be directed to the real Alex. Finally he laughs, catching up. “Right, right. Good… you,” he clears his throat nervously, “you look…good.”

Arthur’s smile widens. A shy john. Probably the man's first time cruising. This is good. "What's your name?"

"Toby."

"So, what can I do for you this evening, Mr. Toby?"

"I want to, um," the john licks his lips, looking around them before his eyes take in Arthur's legs, "I want you."

"Okay..." Arthur's voice is playfully light. "And what do you want to do once you get me?"

He waits as Toby stutters, trying to answer without saying the words. Arthur helps. "If you want me to blow you, then that's twenty, depending on how big you are, or how long it takes," he pauses, continuing when Toby doesn't respond, "or if you want to have sex—"

"Yes," Toby nods quickly, smiling. "That. I want that."

"Then, that'll cost more." Arthur looks Toby over, gauging a price. "Yeah?"

“Yeah, okay. Um, hey, listen, Alex, do you think we could—could we go somewhere? I’ve never done this before, so forgive me, but… I could get us a hotel? A nice one.”

All Arthur can think of is money. If this man can afford a hotel, he can afford to pay Arthur double, maybe triple instead. “Oh, I don’t mind the car.”

The man smiles brightly. “Good. That’s actually perfect.”

Arthur’s probably wrong about the money, but he’s dead on about the pamphlets. He doesn't realize this until he’s already in the backseat with a Bible under his foot and the man’s greedy hands rubbing up and down his legs and under his short shorts.

“So beautiful,” the man whispers over and over, touching as much of Arthur as he can reach. He’s extremely rough pulling open the top button and zipper, surprising Arthur. “Look at all this perfection. Once so pure and so innocent… before you let Satan make you his whore.”

“What?” Arthur tries to sit up, but the hands under his shirt push him down.

“You’re so pretty,” the man whispers in that same soft voice. “But you are a terribly evil, corrupted boy and I have to make you better.”

Arthur gapes at him as the man lets him go to rummage for something on the floor. Alarm bells goes off in Arthur’s head. He kicks the man away and scrambles for the door, but whatever the man presses to his back makes him pause, his hand on the door handle. 

“Turn around, Alex. It’s okay. I won’t use this on you. This is only for the evil I need to get out of you.”

When Arthur turns he cringes as far away as he can, but the man’s grip on his arm is tight. He’s got a bulky looking drill pressed to Arthur’s stomach with his finger on the trigger. Arthur closes his eyes and tries to breathe. He’s had so many run-ins with death that he’s not even afraid that he might die. He’s probably going to this time. More than anything, he’s pissed off and disappointed with himself. Eames will never know what happened to him. Nash will, but he’ll probably skip town before Eames ever comes knocking on his door asking questions. “Okay," he says calmly. "Okay. You want me to strip?”

The man actually looks terrified, his hand shaking. Arthur can feel his trembling through the weapon. At last, the man shakes his head.

“No?”

“No. Just…” He licks his lips and grabs Arthur’s thigh. “Just…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Arthur says softly. His hands slowly reach for his shorts. “It’s okay. What’s your name again?”

“Toby.”

“Okay, Toby. Should I just move these out of your way? Is that what you want?” He stops breathing when Toby pushes the weapon tighter into his stomach. Arthur keeps trying to breathe, to keep his anxiety down. Him taking a deep breath seems to help Toby to cool down a bit. Arthur lifts his hips to slide down his shorts and underwear. “Should I… stay like this? Or should I…” His anxiety’s too strong to fight. “Toby, listen, please, I have… I’m not alone. People will come looking for me if you…” his eyes burn, “if you hurt me, okay?”

Something seems to go off in Toby’s brain. “Oh no, I’m not going to hurt you, Alex. No, no, never hurt you.” He moves over Arthur, pressing Arthur’s back to the seat. He tugs Arthur’s legs up around him and guides Arthur’s hands to his belt buckle. “But there’s something bad in you. God brought me here to set you free.”

Arthur opens Toby’s pants and slides them down, trying to think. “But Toby, aren’t you worried that whatever’s in me might harm you, if you touch me?” He keeps his eyes shut, just waiting for the man’s finger to slip on that trigger.

“I  _am_  harmed,” Toby says softly. “But it’s a hurt I’m willing bear until you’re saved. This evil inside you, it’s powerful. It makes me weak to temptations. I shouldn’t want you, but I can’t control it. You can’t control what your body makes me do either, but I’m going to save you. After I’ve made you weak, I’ll be able to help you.”

Arthur can’t help but stare at the weapon pressing another bruise to his skin as he waits for this to be over. He convinces himself that more than likely, he’ll be able to run as soon as Toby finishes. He’s had johns with god delusions before. It’s always the same. They all pray, the whole time, telling God how much their fucking Arthur is Arthur’s fault and in the end they won’t be able to look Arthur in the eyes as they count out the bills. Only, none of them ever had weapons.

Toby's still having problems fumbling one-handed with the condom, but Arthur’s not going to help him anymore than he has to.

His shoulders sink when Toby's fumbling hand at last gets him gloved. 

The car door opens and closes beside them and Arthur thinks the john’s got a partner, until Toby freezes.

Arthur doesn’t have to look past the gun pointed at the man’s head, right in front of his own face, to know whose 9mm semi-automatic pistol this is.

Eames’ hand on his gun never wavers, as if the man’s head is a magnet for it. The pressure on Arthur’s stomach disappears once Eames slowly guides the man off of him. 

Toby puts the weapon on the floor and sits between Eames and Arthur, his hands up in surrender. He swallows, eying Arthur redress. “If you’re looking for money, sir, it’s in my wallet.”

Eames nods at Arthur to sit back and block the door as Eames blocks the one at his own back. He takes the safety off the gun, his arm rested on the back of the seat. Completely in control. “And if I’m not looking for money?”

“You…you want the car?”

“It is a nice car, but no.”

“The boy? Fine, take him. He’s not mine.”

“You’re right. He’s mine, and he doesn’t look very happy with you.”

When Eames looks past the man at Arthur, Arthur takes a deep, deep, relaxing breath, telling him without words that he knows he’s in trouble and he knows how close he came to biting the proverbial bullet— _again_. He couldn't be more grateful to see Eames in this car right now.

But Eames isn’t angry with Arthur. When Eames is angry with Arthur, he’s got a specific look for that. The look on his face now is one reserved for people he doesn’t mind seeing bleed. “What did he say to you, baby? Were you threatened? Tell me everything.”

“He… he said I was Satan's whore? And blamed me for tempting him to…” He waves his hand between them.

Eames hums. “Well, that's not very nice. Did he hurt you?”

Arthur looks at the bruises on his arms and can feel the thumb-sized ones on his hips getting sore. He nods. “He threatened me with that thing, too.” He points at it.

Eames growls. “ _This fucking nail gun_? Really?” His brow rises as his stare burns into the side of Toby's face. He picks the tool up off the floor. “Is that so?”

“No. No,” the man whispers, shaking his head, sweating. “That-that’s not—”

“Oh, so you’re saying my boy is a liar?” When the man can’t answer, Eames smirks. “But you’re right, though, about one thing. I am the devil, and you and I have a lot we need to discuss. But first, Arthur do you know anything about nail guns?”

He shakes his head, his eyes wide. Something about seeing Eames like this, his rage, his quiet, restrained power, is both terrifying and has Arthur so hard he can't think clearly. If every time he'd been bullied by a john resulted in Eames swooping in and saving the day... Arthur can't even imagine.

“Well," Eames says, speaking matter-of-factly, "these things are very, very dangerous. See how long this is? That’s how long the fucking nails are inside of this thing. Only someone very skilled with handling one ought to. Are you very skilled with this, sir?”

The man nods, swallowing. “I do some…some repairs…at...at my church.”

“Ah, so you know very well that something like this could have really hurt my baby. Right?”

“Sir, sir,” the man tries, his hands still held high, but his efforts cease when Eames taps his 9mm on his cheek. “I was only just… playing with him. I never  _ever_  meant to—”

“You attacked him,” Eames bites out. “You don’t get to speak. Understand?” When Toby nods, Eames looks at Arthur again. “Give me your hands.”

Arthur does. The weight of the nail gun is surprising. His eyes burn just thinking of how scary this thing really is.

“There was a serial killer a few years back,” Eames explains, “who worked construction and used these things to torture and kill, but this gentleman apparently uses them as toys.” Eames tsks. “Lets see if playing, as you say, sir, is as fun as you seem to think it is.”

Eames squeezes his hand around Arthur’s. Before Arthur can react, Eames makes him pull the trigger three times.

Arthur screams, perhaps as loud as Toby as red blooms from his groin under his khakis.

“Fantastic work, baby.” Eames smiles. “You’d give mobsters a run for their money with that aim of yours.”

“Eames! Oh my god, what did you make me do? Holy shit!” Arthur wiggles his hands out from under Eames’, his palms tingling as he watches Toby clutch at his groin, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Eames admires the make of the nail gun, still completely at ease. “Relax, Arthur. Look around you. Look at the rope on the floor, this nail gun, the duct tape… Look at all these things he was going to use on you, to God only knows what.”

Arthur does see them now. There was never going to be a hotel with Toby. Or if there was, Arthur was going to get there probably bound, gagged, and stuffed in the trunk. How many others had this man abducted? How many boys had he killed under this same guise? “Oh my God.”

He watches in shock as Eames hands him his pistol. “No, Eames! No way!”

“Just hold it for me, baby. You’re doing excellently. Just relax.” He opens the door and drags Toby out with his arm wrapped around the man’s face, the nail gun held firmly in his free hand. He sits Toby in the front passenger seat and reaches for Arthur’s hands clasped around the pistol’s handle. He raises his hands to point the gun at Toby’s head again. “Hold that for me in case he tries anything funny, okay?”

“O-okay.” But what the fuck could the man do with three nails in his balls? Arthur’s hands shake so much, he's certain the gun will go off by mistake, forgetting that Eames had put the safety back on before getting out of the car.

Eames hurries around and gets in on the driver’s side. He reaches back to take his pistol. “Thank you, baby. Now,” he looks at the whimpering, crying man sitting beside him, “I won’t ask you any questions, because I’m in no mood for more lies.”

“No, no!” he begs. “Just takes me to the police! Please, I’ll surrender!”

“But then what would serve as proper justice for my baby? If I let you go, even to the police, well,” Eames shrugs, “there’s no satisfaction in that, is there?”

Toby reaches for the door handle and gets his hand nailed to dashboard. Arthur covers his ears to muffle the screams.

Eames glances at Arthur through the mirror. “Travis is out having a smoke near the stairs. Fetch him over, then go upstairs and wait for me.”

“But, you just fucking shot—”

“Hurry along, darling, do as you’re told.”

Arthur stumbles out of the car and into the rain. He holds himself, shivering as he gives Travis the message. When the tall, bulky man opens the door to sit in the car’s backseat, Arthur can still hear Toby screaming and Eames’s promises of repayment.

+

 

Arthur paces the room. He’s known Eames for two and half years now. There is a long list of things that the man could be doing to that john. Eames can be brutal, even sadistic, and horrifically creative. Arthur’s seen what he can do, he knows Eames’ mind…

He looks down at his hands and pauses, standing in the middle of the floor. There’s a smudge of dirt on his pointer finger, the finger that pulled the trigger.

The simple fact that Eames put his hands on that thing, the fact that he’d made Arthur pull that trigger…

It was the most empowering, if not _the_  one empowering, moment of Arthur’s life. The pull on the little piece of plastic, the rubber gripped in his palm, the sound of pressure releasing, of puncturing flesh, the sight of red spotting through the man’s pants, Toby screams, Eames’ quiet encouragement and praise.

It was beautiful.

All Arthur’s life, he’s been small, weak, a victim, even in his own mind, but Eames, though, Eames had given him strength today.

Eames had given him control.

Arthur’s hands are shaking. Those nails could be in his stomach right now. That could have been his blood. Oh, how many times had it been his blood, his pain, and his fear?

If only he could go back in time, back to every single moment when he’d been held down, threatened, scared, and have Eames right there to give him what he needed to fight back. If only Eames could have been there from the start to crush those monsters, what would Arthur’s life look like now? Who would Arthur be?

He’s still standing in the middle of the floor when Eames gets back. There’s blood on the sleeves of his rain-soaked shirt and between his fingers, under his nails.

Arthur knows he ought to back down, make sure Eames isn’t still in attack mode, but he’s only emboldened by Eames' stare. “Is he dead?”

Eames never misses a beat, his heavy boots leaving water tracks on the old floor as he comes closer. “Absolutely. No one gets to treat you like it and walk away from me.  _Ever_.”

He hugs Eames tightly, breathing deeply. “Eames, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Eames whispers in his hair. “You’re safe. You’re not in trouble.”

Eames is gazing at him with hungry, possessive, but patient eyes as Arthur holds him. Arthur kisses him deeply, full of passion, full of relief just to be standing here again in Eames' arms, when he could have been trapped in that car still. It sinks in then, the fact that he’s alive now only because of Eames. Only ever because of Eames.

Eames holds him back at arm’s length. “Take this off,” he says low. “I want to see you.”

Arthur does, quickly. He stands naked in the middle of the bare room so Eames can check him for injuries.

“Come on.” Soaked from the rain, Eames leads him to the bathroom, intent to towel Arthur dry, but Arthur’s kisses won’t stop as he shoos away Eames’ careful hands to undress him, stealing kisses on Eames’ skin wherever he can.

He sits on the corner edge of the tub against the tile wall, letting the lukewarm water wash over him, just to watch Eames shower away blood and dirt from his skin. As Eames rushes through his bathing, he looks like a tough superhero to Arthur, even with his knife and bullet scars.

Arthur reaches up to touch one on Eames’ stomach. A long, poorly stitched cut that stops just under his ribcage. Beneath that healing flesh is all hard muscle, still lean, but bigger everyday, it seems, and impossibly strong. He sinks to his knees, taking Eames into his mouth as soon as the man catches him staring.

Their tongues play together, hands roaming as the water turns cold. They grind against each other, Eames’ cock sliding between Arthur’s soap-slicked thighs and Arthur’s pressed between their sliding hips. It doesn't matter to Arthur whether he comes or not. Just feeling Eames' hands on his back, feeling them dip down before circling to hold his waist, is more than enough for Arthur. It soothes him, grounds him, rids his mind of any lingering fear.

Eames wraps Arthur in the biggest, thickest towel he can find, pausing just to kiss Arthur's face under the towel he's using to dry his hair with. He holds him tightly again, a nervous scowl on his face. “Let’s get you warmed up, kid. You’ll catch a cold, being outdoors and in the shower for too long.”

“It was worth it," Arthur says softly, his skin flushed even though he's shivering, his teeth chattering a little. "I love our showers.”

Eames turns away a little, hiding his blush. “Yeah, well, you’ll hate the flu. Arms up.”

Arthur smiles, holding up his arms for Eames to dress him in Eames’ only sweater since his own one is still rain-soaked. He lifts each leg for Eames to give him his pair boxers as well. He watches Eames kneel, still naked and dripping water, to put socks on him. He hides his scraped left knee behind his right, even though Eames doesn’t ask questions about it.

“Eames? Hey, listen,” he says as Eames puts on a t-shirt and sweatpants borrowed from Yusuf, but Eames doesn’t let him finish.

“I don’t want to talk about this now.”

Arthur understands. He curls up against Eames in their sleeping bag, but he can’t sleep and neither can Eames. He listens to the junkies upstairs running around and shouting about a mouse someone has found in their food supply.

Eames smokes in silence, holding Arthur as if he's afraid a john will come bursting through the door to steal him away. When Travis returns with the dead john’s wallet, offering it to Eames, who refuses it, all he says to Eames is that everything's been taken care of. Arthur can feel Eames relax once the boy has left the room. 

Arthur realizes now that Eames has never been this quiet after killing a man, but then again, there's only ever been one time that Eames killed on Arthur behalf, and even then he’d only seen Arthur tied to the bed, he hadn’t seen anyone actually hurt Arthur, not like this john.

It had been scary for Arthur, being in that car, but he's used to violent johns. Eames isn't. 

Arthur sits up and kisses Eames cheek as another thunderstorm rolls in. He says nothing, just pulls Eames to him until his head rests on Arthur’s chest.

Eames is asleep in minutes, exhausted, no doubt. Arthur slips the cigarette from his fingers and finishes it as the lights outside the window flicker. They go dark as lightning flashes nearby, the thunder only a pace behind.

++

+

 

**End.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> For more drabble requests, questions, inspiration pics, and updates for this fic series, go to grizzly-bear-bane.tumblr.com/


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